


your shadow at evening rising to meet you

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), First Kiss, Future Fic, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the face of great loss and great victory, Stannis and Davos carve something out for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your shadow at evening rising to meet you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [octopus_fool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/gifts).



> I hope you like it! You mentioned Davos' loyalty to Stannis, so this developed out of that. :D The title comes from [The Waste Land](http://www.bartleby.com/201/1.html).

Davos saw the first crocus just as they were riding into the Red Keep. The stone of the walls catching the sun had warmed the earth just enough for the yellow bud to poke its way through the thin layer of remaining snow. Seeing that flower sent an odd feeling of relief coursing through him. It meant something had survived this frozen world, something other than Davos himself, something bright and alive while Davos still felt stiff and half-frozen. 

"Who are you?" the guard in front of the gates demanded, bringing him back to reality. He was skinny and pimple-faced, easily a third of Davos' age. 

Davos glanced back at his small party. _I suppose we do not look as though we serve the king._ He had only the men who could have been spared along the way, those who had not fallen to the fevers or the snows or their own hunger. He had no banner. He was about to dig in his many layers for the king's seal when he recognized a familiar face at the same moment it recognized him.

"Idiot," Ser Rolland Storm snapped at the guard. "That's the Hand of the King."

The guard's eyes swept over Davos again and he was reminded of all those years ago on Dragonstone when people would first realize the man who stood before them was the infamous Onion Knight. Even though his shortened fingers were covered by a glove and resting on his thigh, the bones ached. He fought the urge to reach for the pouch that wasn't there, that hadn't been there in years. 

"Thank you, Ser Rolland," he said, trying to once again act like the Hand. "What can you tell me of the king's whereabouts?" 

The fear was back, the sick dread that Stannis might be dead. He had not had proof of him for two months' time, not since the missive in the king's own hand that the city was secure. But anything could happen to a man in two months—a fever, a chunk of masonry. Davos waited for the inevitable moment when Ser Rolland would tell him the king had died.

But, of course, he did not. "He should be holding court about this time, my lord." He shared a smile with Davos, which told him all he needed to know about how much Stannis truly enjoyed sitting the throne. This, too, was comforting to Davos. Even though he had not seen Stannis in two years, it was nice to know the very nature of the man had not changed.

Davos led his small party into the courtyard. The gates were a mere suggestion, having been demolished in the taking of the castle, he supposed. He knew little of how Stannis had come to his throne, but he knew the Lannisters had resisted to the very last. Privately, he was glad to have missed the wildfire, a repeat of the disaster of the Blackwater which still haunted his dreams. 

The stones around his feet were marred with scorch marks, and several towers had fallen, but the Great Hall and Maegor's Holdfast remained standing. Davos dismounted, handing the reins distractedly to one of his men who had come forward to take them, a skinny lad from a small Northern house.

 _My faith in Stannis was as absolute as always_ , he realized, _but I never truly believed he would sit that throne._

He walked toward the Great Hall as if drawn to it by some unseen force. The doors to the throne room were closed, but they were opened once Davos had drawn out the king's seal. His heart was in his throat was the heavy double doors parted. The gallery was not as full as Davos had seen it during King Robert's reign, when he had often stood beside Stannis during court sessions, but there were enough people that his entry was not a distraction. 

His memories did not prepare him for the sight of him, at the other end of the long hall, in the place that was rightfully his. Stannis sat on the Iron Throne, leaning forward, listening intently to the woman who was speaking to him. 

At the foot of the throne stood who remained of the knights who had been Stannis' guard in the North, and relief broke in Davos' chest when he saw, behind them, Princess Shireen and with her, Devan, his son. Davos closed his eyes, offering a prayer to the Seven that they would still be there when he opened them. 

At this point, he had not escaped notice. Devan gripped the back of Shireen's chair and gaped wide-eyed, while the princess' hand flew to her mouth. The king moved naught save his eyes, which locked with Davos' for long enough to send an unexpected heat rushing through him before Stannis turned his gaze back to the supplicant before the throne. 

Davos remained at the back of the gallery, tying to listen to the problems facing the king's subject. _I am the Hand of the King_ , he had to remind himself. _I should be seated at that council table. In Stannis' absence, I should sit the throne._

The last thought was sobering enough that he did not dare draw attention to himself, lest someone put him forth to dispense advice before he had even spoken to the king. He was preoccupied with looking upon Devan, who kept glancing at him, though he was attentive when the king spoke. Davos swelled with pride at that, though the feeling was bittersweet. 

_If only his mother and brothers could see him._ The news of the casualties from the fighting in the stormlands had reached him over a year ago, but the memories were still there with the dull ache of an old wound, no longer raw, but still tender. He would feel better to have Devan near. He had not seen him in so long.

When the audience was finished, Davos watched Stannis, followed by Shireen as they exited the throne room. He had seen this procedure many times when he had viewed King Robert's court, but back then, he never would have thought of pushing his way through the crowd to follow the king. The guards let him pass and he was, for once, glad of his own notoriety. 

"Sire!" he called. Stannis froze, and Davos detected a tightness in the broad shoulders before the dropped to a knee before the king. 

"Rise, Lord Davos." 

When he did, it was with a smile because even with all his squire's training, Devan could not help but run to his arms. 

"Shh," Davos murmured, as his son, now nearly as tall as he, buried his face in Davos' chest. "You are working still. Your first duty is to the king."

"No," said Stannis suddenly, a bit loudly. Davos noticed that his gaze was fixed to a tapestry hanging on the wall of the passage. "You have been separated too long. I will not deny you a proper reunion. Come to me for supper, and we can discuss our business then. Come, Shireen." He turned and headed in the direction of the royal apartments without another word. 

The next few hours which Davos spent in the sole company of his son flew by all too quickly. There was much to say, but they said little. There would be time for it later. Their separate mourning had been done, but it began anew now that they were together. The time was not nearly enough for Devan to relate all that he had seen in the North, and Davos could tell there was much he was leaving out. Davos had heard the rumors of the horrors, of Lady Melisandre vanishing beyond the Wall and the threat of the Others with her. Rumors were more than enough for his knowledge. 

_He should not have had to see such things, much less put them to words to tell me._

He did not feel even halfway prepared when he arrived at Stannis' solar for supper. At least they would not be alone; Shireen was with Stannis and when Devan brought out their meals, Stannis took a long look at him before saying, "Stay. Dine with us."

Devan drew up a chair with a naturalness that surprised Davos. _My son_ , he thought again with pride. _Accustomed to dining with the king._

It appeared that this was not an unusual arrangement and Davos was glad. He had always been fond of Shireen, and he enjoyed her company, as well as the chance to spend more time with his son. And, if he was honest with himself, he was nervous to be alone in Stannis' presence, for reasons he could not put to words. 

It had been a concern ever since he had heard that Stannis had, at long last, won the throne he sought. Would he want a better Hand now that he alone was responsible for the entire realm? What did a barely-literate smuggler know about governing an entire kingdom? It came as a prickly comfort that Stannis was not like to dismiss him; he was true to his word, even if the better choice would be to choose from among his new allies who had helped him win and keep his throne.

These thoughts distracted him, though the conversation over supper was generally light. There was so much weight around each of the four of them that Davos was glad to hear about Devan's progress in his lessons, or Shireen's discoveries in dusty storerooms. It helped to take his mind off the heavier matters, to be reminded somewhat of the pleasanter times they had spent on Dragonstone before Stannis had ever needed to be a king. 

**

Stannis had to restrain himself from continuing to throw glances Davos' way during supper. Having gone so long without seeing him made each opportunity all the more tempting and each glimpse all the more satisfying when he allowed himself one. 

Davos did not look changed by his ordeals in the North; the plain face was the same as ever, the fascination it held for Stannis just as infuriating. 

As infuriating as the attraction was, even more so was the fact that he had not yet spoken to Davos alone. 

"Walk with me," he said, once their places had been cleared away. "I want to take the air before I go to bed."

Davos looked surprised. "Certainly, sire." 

Stannis was quiet as they left the royal apartments and climbed the stairs. It was a route he had taken many an evening when he had been Master of Ships and had had his fill of Robert. He had often bade Davos accompany him and now, walking beside him, he felt more relaxed than he had in years.

"A fine thing, Your Grace. To finally sit the throne you sought all this time."

"Aye." Stannis let the door close behind him as they stepped out onto the battlements and took a deep breath. When the air blew just so, the stench of Flea Bottom could be avoided and only the sea remained. It reminded him of Storm's End. "Would that I felt more satisfied with it."

"It should be a bittersweet victory, Your Grace, with all that you have lost to achieve it." Davos' eyes were on the horizon, and Stannis felt not the grief he was supposed to feel for his wife, for Renly or his kinsmen who had fallen in the North, but guilt for being once again the cause of Davos' pain. "At least we can have peace. You must have so many plans."

Stannis nodded. He did want to get down to the business of ruling. He had long wanted it, to show that he could handle a kingdom better than Robert. And it was satisfying to sit the throne and dispense justice, free in the knowledge that there was no challenger, no ruler the people might like better, so long as Daenerys Targaryen stayed content with her Eastern holdings. 

And now that he had his Hand back by his side, he would be able to truly get to work; though he had sat the throne securely for months, it was as though he had accomplished nothing of significance without Davos. 

"Your Grace?"

Stannis inclined his head for Davos to go on.

"I've been thinking." Davos spoke slowly, choosing his words deliberately. Despite himself, Stannis' stomach clenched with nerves over what he might say. "Now that you have your throne, perhaps you might name a more suitable Hand. Someone whose loyalty you might need to secure?"

"Do you mean to tell me you no longer want the job?" Stannis tried to keep the fear from showing in his voice. He could not blame any man from quitting his service after all that Stannis had put Davos through, but the truth was that having him by his side meant more to him than even the throne. _If he wants to take his son and go back to his lands and never look at me again, I must let him. Even my rights of kingship must not be enough to demand more from him._

"Not at all, sire," Davos answered quickly. "I only wanted to give you the option."

Stannis breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Davos did not hear it. "I would have no other," he said firmly. "Not after all you have done for me. I cannot give you all the rewards you truly deserve for that." 

Davos smiled. "I have everything I could ever want." He paused. "At least that you could give me."

Stannis looked away, fixing his eyes to the horizon where the sun was descending. He did not know what to say to that. He could not bring back the family Davos had lost, nor give him back the years he might have spent at home with them had he not been spending them with Stannis. At least he had given him the chance to refuse. He would not say how gladdened he felt that Davos had chosen him. 

"Good," he said simply, laying a hand on the parapet. "Then tomorrow we will begin the work." It sent a strange sort of passion burning in his chest. He suddenly felt that the boundless potential of his kingship.

Davos stepped closer, making his heart seize momentarily. Perhaps it was only the dim light now that the sun was all but gone that made Davos place his own hand too close to Stannis' so that his thumb brushed the back of it. Despite his first instincts, Stannis did not jerk his hand away. It was a pleasant feeling and he would hold onto it for as long as the accident allowed. 

They stayed that way until the sky was a deep shade of purple and, perhaps it was Stannis' imagination, but Davos seemed reluctant to go back inside. At long last, however, they could not justify it, especially on such a cloudy night when they could not even see the stars. 

As it was, it was full dark by the time they reached the door and Stannis had to blink while his eyesight adjusted to the torches in the stairwell. He did not see the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late. All he saw was Davos pushing past him. Before Stannis could register what was going on, he had placed himself between Stannis and the man with the knife. 

It all happened so quickly that Stannis could not even get the dagger out of his own belt. There was blood, a cry of pain, and footsteps running down the stone stairs as the attacker retreated.

The decision to stay with Davos rather than give chase was such an easy one that it only barely flashed across his mind. 

"Guards!" he barked, cursing his decision to go walking without one, his selfishness in wanting to be alone with Davos. It was not as though they had done anything that could not have been witnessed by his Kingsguard, however foolishly Stannis might have hoped otherwise. 

"Where are you hurt?" he asked, seizing Davos by the shoulders. He barely noted the entry of two men-at-arms. Davos winced and Stannis instantly removed his hands. The left came away bloody from the stab wound on Davos' right shoulder. 

"He needs a maester," Stannis snapped at the guards.

"Your Grace, what happened?" one of them asked. It seemed obvious to Stannis, and he found all he could do was point down the stairs.

"An assassin lurking in the shadows."

The youth's eyes widened. "Sire, you—"

"He needs a maester," Stannis repeated through gritted teeth. What was the point of being king if no one listened to you? 

"We should apprehend the assassin," Davos said. "I—"

"Need a maester." Stannis did not wait for a reply. He simply wrapped his arm around Davos' middle and maneuvered him to the door. The guards had no choice but to follow. 

Somewhere between the stairs and the royal apartments, they managed to collect Ser Richard Horpe, who stayed close as one of the men-at-arms went for the maester. 

"Here," Stannis said, pushing open the door to the chamber he'd installed Davos in while the Tower of the Hand was rebuilt. He sat Davos, who looked quite pale, on the bed. 

The maester arrived next, accompanied by Ser Loras Tyrell.

"Your Grace, what is the matter?" Ser Loras asked urgently.

The last of Tommen's Kingsguard who still remained to serve Stannis, Ser Loras had knelt with his family in gratitude for Stannis' freeing Lady Margaery. Despite this, Renly yet appeared between them like specter, present but unspoken of. Stannis normally preferred to use another guard, and Ser Loras seemed more than happy to allow him. However, Stannis hoped he might prove useful in this matter. 

"Lord Davos and I were attacked by an assassin. It was dark and I could not make out his face." Stannis cursed himself for having stood by and let the villain escape, but he would not have entertained the notion of leaving Davos. If he had, he might yet be bleeding in the stairwell, instead of delivered safely into the maester's care.

"Which way did he go?" The promise of a chase already shone in Ser Loras' eyes and Stannis was pleased he had guessed correctly. 

Stannis explained where the attack had taken place and the direction the man had fled, and Ser Loras strode off, white cloak flapping purposefully, though the attacker was surely long gone. 

"Are _you_ all right, Your Grace?" the maester asked him. 

"Yes, fine," Stannis said dismissively. "How is he?" He looked down at Davos lain out on the bed, still in his boots. 

"It was a flesh wound. I have dressed it, and the milk of the poppy should make him comfortable."

Stannis nodded. "Thank you. I'll see to him from here."

The maester gave him an odd look, but departed. Ser Richard refused to leave Stannis alone as he went in search of Devan Seaworth. He found him in the sitting room, to his surprise, with Shireen. They were poring over a large book of paintings he recalled she had dragged out of some closet.

Stannis hesitated. He had been making an effort to speak more gently to Devan and to be better with Shireen, now that he was all she had. He would have to choose his words carefully. The children seemed to take his pause as an expectation that they should stand on ceremony, which they did.

Stannis cleared his throat. "Devan, I must tell you your father has been injured. There was an assassin—he took the wound meant for me." 

"No!" cried Shireen.

Devan said nothing, though he looked pale.

"He is resting. The maester assures me he will be fine." Stannis did not know what to do; he settled for reaching out to pat Devan's shoulder. 

"Can I see him, Your Grace?"

"Not tonight. He has been given milk of the poppy and is already asleep. You may see him in the morning. I was with him until just now. It is a minor wound. You should not worry." He hoped his words would be a comfort; at last, the boy nodded. 

"Have you caught the man, Father?" Shireen asked, gripping the back of her chair. Her eyes showed as much concern as Devan's did.

"Not yet," he said. "We will." It was a promise to both of them, though he had no idea how they would accomplish it. It had been a good task to set Ser Loras on; it would keep him occupied. "Good night."

They both murmured out a good night and Stannis left. It was good that they had developed a friendship. It almost made him smile to imagine his daughter and Davos' son, to hope that Devan would serve her ably when Stannis was long gone and Shireen ruled as queen. 

He tried to put his worry to some other matter as he prepared for bed himself. He was the king; his responsibility was to the whole realm, not to one man. 

But, try as he might, he could not stop his worry. He had never slept well in his life, and being in Robert's bedchamber made him even more uncomfortable. After a few hours' worth of tossing and turning, he threw the covers back and got up. It was the hour of the owl when he slipped out of his bedchamber with a candle and made his way to Davos' room. 

He told himself he simply wanted to check on him, to make sure he was sleeping comfortably, did not need his dressing changed or more milk of the poppy. He opened the door a crack. The only sound from within was Davos' soft breathing. There was no moon, so it was only the meager light from Stannis' candle that illuminated his path as he gingerly closed the door behind him and went over to the bed.

Davos was fast asleep, lying on his back with his injured arm across his chest. He seemed to be resting peacefully, and Stannis noted that he had not bled through his dressing. 

Stannis hesitated. This was far worse than any other perversions that had entered his thoughts of Davos. He could not stand here and watch him sleep. 

He turned to go. If he could not sleep, he would read, or put some thought to his work. 

"Your Grace?" 

Stannis felt guilt drop into his stomach like a rock. "I did not mean to wake you," he said quickly. "I came only to see how you were doing." 

Davos smiled, a muzzy, just-awakened smile that felt like something that was not Stannis' to see. "I'm doing well enough, sire. And you didn't wake me. The pain keeps me from getting too comfortable."

"Pain? Should I fetch the maester?" 

"You needn't do that." Davos' eyes were heavy-lidded. "It is not so bad that I need more milk of the poppy. I do not like to take too much of that. You know as well as I do what it does to men."

"Nonsense." Stannis set his candle on the nightstand. "If you are truly in pain—" 

"Still, if Your Grace will forgive me." Davos shifted and winced. Stannis reached for him instantly. "I'm sorry—I simply need... to move a little."

"Here." Stannis leaned over the bed, allowing Davos to fasten his good arm about his neck as he supported Davos' back. _I could lift him clean in my arms_ , he realized, as he settled Davos back on his pillows. 

"Thank you." Davos let out a breath that seemed to contain a great deal of tension. "That's much better."

In the absence of anything else, Stannis sat on the edge of the bed. Both of them were silent, as if they were each waiting patiently for the other to speak.

"Could it be you cannot sleep either, sire?" 

Stannis looked away. He could not bear the shame of dealing with his own insomnia by keeping an invalid awake. What kind of creature had this longing for Davos' company turned him into?

"I'm sorry, I—" He stood and reached for his candle, only to find Davos' shortened fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"I did not mean for you to leave, Your Grace." In the flickering light, Davos' warm brown eyes held a spark of amusement, along with the dullness brought on by the milk of the poppy. "If you are having trouble sleeping, you might stay. I must confess myself wide awake after having exerted myself in moving."

Wordlessly, Stannis sat down again.

"Have you identified the man?" Davos asked.

Stannis shook his head, though he had gone to bed without summoning Ser Loras for a report. "I suppose you cannot tell me anything more than I saw with mine own eyes?" 

Davos shook his head. "It was dark and it happened too quickly." 

Stannis nodded. 

"It is for your safety I worry now, Your Grace. If there is a man out there with designs on your life…"

"I'll be fine," Stannis said curtly. His own life did not seem half as important as the one that had nearly been lost tonight. "I have informed my guard." _Not a full kingsguard, though, not close to it. Perhaps I should be looking for worthy knights to make seven again._

Davos smiled fondly. "Fortunate, then, that you have others who worry about you."

Stannis felt the back of his neck grow hot. "I should leave you to your rest."

Davos' eyes lowered. "Good night, sire."

"Good night." 

Stannis took up his candle and headed for the door. Davos was asleep by the time he shut it. 

**

Davos blinked his way awake the next morning through a throbbing pain in his shoulder and a dullness in his head. Memories of the night before floated, wispy, at the edge of his consciousness. 

He hoped he had not been too forward with Stannis. His mind had been dulled by the milk of the poppy, and he ran through what he remembered, hoping he had not overstepped his bounds. He didn't remember every word they'd exchanged, but he did remember Stannis sitting on the side of his bed, as well as looping his arms around the king's neck.

Davos pushed himself up dizzily. Perhaps that part had been a dream, although if he had been going to dream about Stannis, he would much have preferred it to have had more to it than that.

There was a knock on the door. 

"Come in," he called, belatedly cursing himself for not having asked whoever it was to identify himself. _An assassin would not knock_ , he reminded himself. 

It was his son and the maester. Devan was carrying a breakfast tray. He refused an offer of more milk of the poppy, despite his pain. He wanted to keep his wits about him. What he did not refuse was breakfast and a visit from his son. Devan proved to be a welcome distraction, telling Davos about what had been set for him for the day, which included following Ser Loras as they sought the assassin.

"I hope you do not forget you are the king's squire," Davos reminded him. "Your first duty should be to him."

Devan's brown eyes went wide. "But this _is_ duty to the king. We're looking for the man who means to kill him. Besides," he added, "it was the king's idea."

Davos smiled, imagining Devan as a fine knight one day. "Then, good hunting to you and Ser Loras."

After Devan left, Davos settled in for a day with nothing to do. He hated that he had just arrived in the capital, making himself fully available to the king for the first time in two years, but he was now rendered useless by his injury. He dozed on and off for lack of stimulation, the only result of which was that when the rest of the castle was bedding down for the night, Davos was wide awake. He tried to distract himself by thinking of what matters he might bring to the king when he was able to get out of bed and resume his duties, but he had not been briefed on any topic and thus could not think of any new insights. 

He was in the midst of trying to recite all the names of the great houses when he heard a scraping at the door. He sat up on his elbows. It was only when he saw Stannis' face in the doorway, illuminated by candlelight, that he realized how much he had been hoping he would see him.

"Your Grace."

Stannis stiffened. "Did I wake you?" 

"No." Davos pushed himself all the way up, wincing at the fire shooting from his shoulder. "Come in."

Stannis gave him a hesitant look as though his wince might herald a gush of blood. When it didn't, he stepped fully into the room and took up the same spot he'd occupied the night before, putting his candle back on the nightstand. 

"How was your day, sire?" Davos asked, not sure how to go about making conversation if the king would be visiting him nightly.

Stannis sighed. "I am beginning to see why Robert went hunting so much." 

Davos smiled; it was the closest he had ever heard Stannis come to a joke. "When I am better, Your Grace, I can take a day on the throne." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted what he'd volunteered for, but he would do anything to ease Stannis' burden.

Stannis gave him a searching look that made Davos wonder if he could read minds. That was when he noticed the book in Stannis' hand.

"Some late-night reading, sire?"

"Oh." Stannis looked down at it as though he had only just remembered he had it. "I was in the library. This evening, Shireen asked me something about her mother's family which I could not answer." He held up the book; the words of the title Davos could make out were _Kings of the Reach_. "The Florents take their descent from the Gardeners, as do so many great houses of the Reach." He began paging through the book absently. "It is not a subject about which I know as much as I should." 

Davos smiled. "I know little of that history. I know some of the Storm Kings, though," he added hastily. "Your ancestors."

Stannis nodded. "Do you know why your mother called you Davos?"

"I am afraid I never thought to ask her."

There was a tiny hint of a smile on Stannis' lips. "There was a Davos Baratheon, you know. The son of Orys and Argella." 

"I doubt she knew that, Your Grace." 

"No, probably not. But I thought of it in my delirium, when I first met you, all those years ago at Storm's End."

Davos settled back on his pillows. "When I was having lessons with Maester Pylos, we did talk of the Conquest, but I know little of those early days. We spent most of the time on my letters." _And I have those now, even if some refuse to resolve themselves into words._

"That was good," Stannis said absently, flipping through the book. "Would you like to hear it? I was going back to my own bedchamber, but if you would like the company…" The way his voice trailed off reminded Davos of a lad come to ask a girl to accompany him to the market and trying to make it seem as though he did not care if she refused him. 

"I would like that," Davos said. 

"Good. Perhaps it will help you sleep. This text is certainly dry enough." Stannis opened the book to the place his finger marked and began to read. He had the fluency of someone with a full highborn education, of course, but he had none of the storyteller's skill. The words were simply that—words.

Despite that, Davos found himself drifting on Stannis' voice, to the Reach of near a thousand years ago, though he had never even been to present-day Highgarden. _Too far from the sea_ , he thought. _I would not know what to do with myself so far from the sea._ He let his eyes flutter shut. It was cozy having Stannis' warmth beside him, cozier than it had any right to be.

"Davos?" Stannis' voice broke through his reverie. Davos opened his eyes. "Are you asleep?"

"No." He had been near it, though.

Stannis hesitated. "Shall I go on?" 

"If you like." He paused. "But you might make yourself more comfortable. Your Grace." Hopefully using the title might ease the breech of etiquette, if that was indeed what his suggestion was. Was he actually suggesting Stannis get into bed with him, without even the milk of the poppy as an excuse?

Stannis was looking at him critically, as though he were deciding how to take Davos' suggestion. “Perhaps you're right.” Stannis laid the book aside and bent down to take his boots off. Then he settled himself back on the mattress, resting the book on his chest. Davos noticed that he was too tall for the bed; his feet hung off the bottom. 

“How do you feel?” Stannis asked absently, as he sought his place again. “Are you comfortable? Do you need the maester?”

“Not right now, sire.” Davos' right arm was still draped over his middle, a pillow under his shoulder. The pain was certainly less than it had been; tonight, it felt more stiff than anything. Tomorrow, he would insist on getting out of bed. 

“Good.” Stannis shifted his hips, as though he could not find a good position.

“Are _you_ comfortable, Your Grace?” Davos asked. 

Stannis sighed. The book still lay on his chest; he did not look like he planned to take it up again. “Too comfortable, perhaps.” 

His eyes seemed to bore into Davos. It was a feeling he'd experienced before when he stood before Stannis, but it no longer unnerved him. In fact, he felt honored to be one of the few people Stannis appeared to judge worth his time. 

Now, however, he felt the gaze going much deeper and he swallowed hard. For all their time together, they had never been this close. He could feel Stannis' breath on his face and in the flickering candlelight his blue eyes were so dark they were nearly black. It was a startlingly intimate image, though he had been in dark places with Stannis before. 

He did not know how long they lay staring at each other until Stannis reached out to brace his hand on the back of Davos' head, threading his fingers through his hair. 

Davos' heart was pounding. He knew what was coming and he both wanted it and didn't, with the sort of intensity that made him fear he might be rent in twain. When Stannis' lips at last landed on his, he was ready, however, bringing his hand, albeit limply, up to grasp the back of Stannis' neck. 

It was not an especially good kiss, but Davos could not fault that, for he had never expected to kiss Stannis at all. It was Stannis who drew back first and Davos realized he was hesitant. Had Stannis not been sure Davos wanted this? He decided he needed to show him. 

He brushed his thumb gingerly over Stannis' cheek, before drawing him into another kiss. This one was longer, and they lingered in it before drawing apart reluctantly. 

“What about now?” Davos murmured with a smile.

The corners of Stannis' lips quirked up into what was nearly a smile. “I have wanted this for a long time, I must confess.” He still did not look as though he quite believed it. 

“You should have told me.”

Stannis sighed and rolled onto his back. “I couldn't. I did not want to put you in a position to refuse the king.”

“And now?”

“I had the suspicion you would respond as you did.” He drew Davos closer to him so that his head rested on his shoulder. “And it seemed right that we should have a chance at what we want.”

They did not speak for a long time. Stannis absently stroked Davos' hair, a clumsily romantic gesture. 

“You have been by my side for so long,” Stannis continued. “I wanted to give you everything I could.”

Davos smiled. “You have done that and more.” He reached out to take Stannis' hand with his left, bringing it up to his lips. “But we can have this now. Perhaps we should take it, with all that we have been through, all that we have lost.” It did not ease the pain of the losses, but it gave him a pleasant feeling of hope.

Stannis seemed to consider this, his mouth taking a slight downward turn even while Davos was kissing the back of his hand. 

“You are right,” he said at last, pulling Davos in for another kiss. “Perhaps it would not be wrong for us to have this.” He was still looking to Davos for approval, as though he were not quite sure. 

“I think so as well.”

That was good enough for Stannis. He leaned in for one more satisfied kiss before lying down and closing his eyes.

Before Davos fell asleep, the thought crossed his mind that he had not been expecting to be stabbed upon his return to the capital, but he had not been expecting this either. All told, one surprise had been far more pleasant than the other.

**

Stannis woke the next morning, surprised to find Davos' head on his shoulder. He froze for a moment before the events of the night before came filtering back through the haze of wakefulness. 

He could not quite believe that he had actually kissed Davos. The memory of his boldness sent a forbidden thrill through him that he could never remember feeling before. _It was not my custom_ , he thought, looking down at Davos' peacefully sleeping face. _But I am glad to have taken the leap._

He settled back on his pillow—the corner of Davos', truly—and set his mind to the day ahead. He would not rise until Davos had awakened, would not disturb his slumber. 

The first objective would have to be catching the assassin who had wounded Davos. The fact that his objective had been killing Stannis himself was not at the forefront of his mind. 

Then there was the estimate of the cost of rebuilding the parts of the Red Keep that were still damaged. He sighed. At least they would have Lannister gold aplenty to pay for that and more, as well as repay the Iron Throne's debts. 

His mind was so fixed on his thoughts that he did not notice Davos was awake until he was peering over Stannis. 

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he said with a smile.

“Good morning. How do you feel?” 

Davos looked amused that he was still asking. "Much better. I hope to get up this morning and do some of my work. I feel I have been a negligent Hand, away for all that time and then lying abed."

Stannis shook his head. "You were entitled to it. You were attacked." His eyes fell on Davos' bandages again. "You must at least see the maester. You cannot allow corruption to set in."

"Certainly, sire." There was a somewhat mischievous glint in his eyes that showed he was not just obeying the admonition of his king, but bowing to the concern of his lover. 

_Are we lovers?_ Stannis wondered, ears feeling hot. _Would he want that?_ The thought of going beyond what they had done last night was not one Stannis had long lingered on. He had not allowed it. But now the prospect was in front of him and it was tantalizing. 

"And I should be seen carrying out my duties as king." With intense reluctance, he pushed himself out of bed, took up his book, and left Davos' room. 

He had barely made it to the entrance to his own bedchamber when a voice cried out, "Your Grace!"

Stannis turned, annoyed that he had been seen returning to his own room in the morning. He hoped his clothes did not betray that he had slept in them in another man's bed. 

Ser Loras was emerging from Stannis' bedchamber, looking baffled. "You are all right, Your Grace?"

"Of course," Stannis could not help but snap. "Why shouldn't I be?" 

A mask of confusion clouded the youth's face. "Then you did not sleep in your bed last night, sire?" 

"No." He would not elaborate until he knew why he was being asked. It was a strange question.

To his surprise, Loras looked somewhat relieved. "Ser Rolland saw a man lurking in the wee hours of the morning. He gave chase, but again, he eluded capture. Your Grace, when we saw that you were not abed--" 

"I was in the library," Stannis said quickly, hoping the library had not been searched by his guards. 

Ser Loras frowned. "You should have informed one of us."

Stannis scowled, remembering how much he disliked the prospect of assembling a Kingsguard. "Send Ser Godry with Princess Shireen today."

"And you, Your Grace?"

Stannis crossed to his bedchamber door. "I will not go about unarmed." He had not quite yet become as ineffective as Robert and would not so long as he occupied his throne. Nor would the mere threat of assassination force him from the throne he had fought so long to win.

**

Davos was questioning the wisdom of his decision to get up by the time he reached the room that was to serve as his makeshift office. It was covered in scrolls, maps, and books, and his shoulder ached at the prospect of standing to sort it out coupled with the mental exertion of reading. 

He was just about to give up and retire to his bed when there came a knock at the door.

"Yes?" he called with some reluctance, not knowing whether the visitor would be welcomed or dreaded.

Shireen poked her head in. "Are you getting on all right, Lord Davos?"

He forced a smile. "As well as I can in this state, princess."

She pushed the door open all the way. "Can I help?"

Davos glanced up at Ser Godry who stood behind her. "The king's suggestion, my lord," he said. Davos was not sure what was meant by that, but the meaning became apparent when Shireen set to helping him sort out his office.

"Father could have been attacked last night," she said conversationally. "There was a man skulking about outside our apartments." 

Davos felt a rush of relief mixed with guilt. Had spending the night in his bed kept Stannis from being attacked, or had they risked being caught?

"Does your shoulder hurt terribly?" she asked suddenly, concern in her blue eyes. 

"Not as bad as it once did."

"I'm glad," she said earnestly. "They will catch the man soon, surely."

They worked in a companionable silence, Shireen darting about the room at Davos' directions. It reminded him of how much he had missed her, and he thought again of how nice it was to be here with Devan, with Stannis and Shireen. Perhaps they could have supper together again tonight. 

Davos was so absorbed in these pleasant thoughts that he was caught completely unawares when the door opened and one of Davos' men who had ridden south with him slipped in.

"Ryon!" Davos said with surprise. "What are you doing here?" There was something wrong, he knew, just to look at his eyes. "Where is Ser Godry?"

"He has gone to see to the king." Ryon was glancing around the small room nervously, looking often at Shireen.

"Is my father all right?" she asked.

"Yes, princess." Ryon reached for the knife at the same time Davos reached out with his good arm.

**

Stannis was flipping through treasury records when Ser Godry appeared at his desk. 

"Your Grace?" he asked curiously.

"What is it?" Stannis snapped the ledger shut. "Why aren't you with Princess Shireen?"

Ser Godry went pale. "I was told you had called for me."

"By whom?" 

Ser Godry's answer was to run from the room, giving Stannis no choice but to follow him.

**

"Ryon." Davos fought to keep his voice steady even as he gripped the young man's wrist. And he _was_ young. When they had first met, Davos had taken a liking to him for his resemblance to his late Maric. "Why are you doing this?" 

Next to them, Shireen watched in wide-eyed silence. Davos prayed she wouldn't do anything to provoke him. 

"My father," Ryon said. "My brothers. My uncles. They all died because of him." He looked impossibly young and helpless; his wrist in Davos' grasp felt limp.

Davos remembered that they had marched with Stannis, which was why all that had been left of their house to send with Davos had been Ryon himself. He had felt for the lad, had tried to take him under his wing. He wished he had paid him more heed. "And this is how you honor their memory? They died in service to their king. What would killing me accomplish?" Davos did not for a moment believe he had been the target here, but he would not say it and alarm Shireen unduly.

Any reason he might have given died on Ryon's tongue. The knife slipped from his fingers. 

At that moment, the door burst open to admit Stannis and Ser Godry, both with swords drawn. 

"Stop!" cried Davos, shoving himself between Ryon and the blades. 

Stannis' gaze was questioning, but he put up his steel. Ser Godry's remained drawn, and he looked to the king for instruction. 

"He is just a boy," Davos said, conscious of the fact that Ryon was near tears. 

"A boy who attempted regicide," Ser Godry said.

"Not quite that," Davos said gently. "It was me he wounded and me he cornered in here. I am afraid I was his target all along." 

Stannis looked skeptical. 

"What should we do with him, Your Grace?" Ser Godry asked. 

Stannis gave Davos a searching look. 

"I think if an offer was made to take the black, Ryon would accept," Davos said. "They are in great need of men if I am not mistaken." He did not flinch under Stannis' scrutiny. He did not want to be responsible for this boy's losing his life, even if the law said he deserved it. 

"Yes," Stannis agreed. "A black cell until he can be sent north." He did not so much look at Ryon as he was led away, but Davos did not take his eyes off him until he was out of sight.

As soon as Ser Godry and Ryon were gone, Stannis strode forward to embrace Shireen. "Are you all right?" he murmured into her hair.

"I was never in any danger, Father." She sounded half amused.

"I can see that, with Davos here." He turned to look at Davos over his shoulder; Davos met his gaze with a smile.

"All I did was talk to him, sire. I truly don't think he meant to hurt anyone."

Stannis' eyes flicked to Davos' shoulder, but he said nothing. Perhaps they would be able to put the matter behind them.

**

Stannis was reluctant to let Davos and Shireen out of his sight for the rest of the evening. Supper was monopolized by Shireen and Devan's excited recounting of the events of the afternoon, for even though the culprit had been apprehended, Devan still wanted to share the full list of suspects Ser Loras had compiled. Stannis laid that knowledge aside for later, having been quite oblivious to the fact that so many men might wish him harm. He would need to meet with Ser Loras in the morning.

He remained largely silent, as did Davos. 

"We will have to finish your office tomorrow, Lord Davos," said Shireen, breaking off a piece of the crust of her lamprey pie. "We didn't get very far before we were interrupted."

Stannis was about to caution her not to bother Davos, but before he could, Davos said, "I would like that very much, princess. I enjoyed our morning together considerably more than the afternoon."

Stannis smiled behind his water goblet. Perhaps this was not entirely madness, to be spending all this time with Davos and his son. They were pleasant company, and after supper, the four of them settled in front of the fire for a blessedly quiet evening. 

Shireen read aloud and while Devan and Davos listened raptly, Stannis found his mind wandering again, back over the events of that afternoon. He could not wait to get Davos alone. It seemed like hours before Shireen at last laid her book aside, and she and Devan retired. Davos made to rise himself, but Stannis stopped him.

"My bedchamber," he said, trying not to sound too forceful. "Now that the threat is gone, there is no need to hide in yours."

Davos smiled. "Certainly." He stood, slipping his hand into Stannis', twining their fingers together. Stannis felt the spark jolt up his arm, and what had happened earlier truly dawned on him. How close he had come to losing Davos, so soon after they had decided to act on those unspoken feelings. He reached a shaking hand up to cup Davos' cheek.

"Are you all right, Your Grace?"

Stannis could not reply. He just needed to touch Davos, to make sure he was truly all right. His hand moved from his cheek to the back of his neck and guided him into a long, slow kiss. 

"Don't worry about me," Davos said when they broke apart. "It's over now, and we have all come out of it safely."

"But you could have--" 

"He posed no real threat." Davos' calm was almost infuriating. His thumb moved up and down the line of Stannis' jaw. "I only wish I could have gotten to him before he ever tried to hurt one of us. I had been neglecting him. I ought to have--"

"There was nothing you could have done. If it is anyone's fault, it is mine. I am the king and everything is the king's fault." 

That got a smile out of Davos, at least. "Thank you for sparing his life, sire. I do not think I could have borne it had I had to send him to his death."

Stannis could only nod. The image of Davos and Shireen in such close proximity to a man with a knife was still so fresh in his mind that he might have cut off his head a thousand times. But if it was important to Davos, he would allow it.

"And it is over," Davos repeated firmly.

"Aye, it is over." Stannis draped an arm about his shoulders and guided him to the bedroom. "Perhaps we can make another run at peaceful rule as we intended."

"Yes." Davos seemed to brighten at that. He settled onto the bed and, without a word, Stannis knelt to remove his boots. "Oh, Your Grace. You don't--"

Stannis ignored him, moving on silently to help Davos off with the rest of his clothes before disrobing himself. They did not speak again until they were in bed 

"There will be plenty of time for more work tomorrow," he said warningly. "I will need your help."

Davos smiled at him from next to him on the pillow. "I am happy to give it."

Stannis could not come up with a response to that. All he could do was look at Davos beside him. He had never wanted it, this throne, had told Davos so what felt like a lifetime ago. In some way, he thought he would be fighting for it forever. Now he found himself in possession of two things he had thought would never be his, and he almost didn't know what to do with them.

"Is something wrong, sire?" Davos was looking up at him sleepily.

"No," said Stannis gruffly. "Nothing at all." He extinguished the candle and settled down next to Davos, even though they had the entire bed around them. 

There were no words he could say to tell Davos how much his continued presence was valued. He simply appreciated everything that made him Davos, everything that had always made him Davos. He pressed his lips to Davos' hair.

"I thought you had sleep in mind, sire."

"I do. Though I do not know if I will be able to."

Davos gave him a sleepy smile. "We can talk, if you'd like." 

Stannis made a noncommittal noise. It was enough to lie here with Davos in his arms, his anchor point. The years they had spent apart did not matter, no more than did the years they had been nothing more than lord and sworn knight, king and Hand. All that mattered now was the years that lay ahead of them, and if each day of his kingship would end like this, Stannis thought they might be pleasant years indeed.


End file.
